


It was stupid.

by Onlymostydead



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, mavin is only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymostydead/pseuds/Onlymostydead
Summary: He didn't want to die.He just didn't want to live.That's what Michael decided after a long while, that's what he decided and that's what he wanted to remember.





	It was stupid.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just posting a bunch of things from a while back- so... Sorry.
> 
> Please don't read this if you will be hurt.

It had been years, but still the memories were vivid in Michael mind as he recounted them.

He had been up late, talking with Gavin. He couldn't remember what about, now. Just that they had been video chatting and that he shouldn't feel this way. He laughed along with Gavin's dumb jokes, though, and retaliated in kind. So why did he feel so, so empty?  
It was as if he was underwater, and Gav was on the surface. They still spoke but his words barely touched Michael, the laughter not quite reaching him. It was wrong and he knew that- Gavin was his best friend. He shouldn't feel like this when he talked to him.  
He rememers making sure his arm was not in the frame as he dug his nail into his wrist, pleased to find it calming.   
Pleased and a bit terrified.  
He kept his nail jammed in his forearm until it bled, not much, but satisfying. Still after that he pressed harder, still after saying goodnight to Gavin.

***

The next morning Michael dug around in his backpack until he found a pencil sharpener. I wasn't something he used often, so it wasn't too important. Just a little something with a blade.  
Carefully he unscrewed the screw that held the blade to the cheap plastic, slipping the metal in his pocket before heading to the bathroom.  
He made a single cut on his wrist, the same wonderful cloudy feeling washing over him, but better this time. He reveled in it as the blood formed into beads along the shallow cut. Patting it with a bit of toilet paper to 'clean up' the blood he pulled down his long sleeve.  
And he went to school as if nothing had happened.

***

That was the first, and at first it was just one or two cuts before school, or when he got back from a particularly rough day.  
At first it was just one patch on his left wrist, a place his bracelets always covered.   
At first it was a thing he did because it made him feel good. He felt in control of something for once. He swore it couldn't control him.

***

It wasn't until about a week later that he had the idea of cutting in the shower. Skin was softer then, maybe it would cut even deeper and feel even better. So he took his pencil sharpener blade into the shower with him, slicing again and again at his wrist.  
It wasn't only on that little patch there anymore, and it wasn't just one or two cuts. But hell of it didn't still make him feel so damn good.  
So good, in fact, that he forgot his razor in the shower. By the time he remembered and went to get it his mom had thrown it away.  
She asked him about it, and he lied.

That was his first mistake.

***

Quickly replacing the one razor with two more, Michael now kept them on him at all times. It was an oddly reassuring reminder, in a sense. No matter how chaotic things got he always had his blades right there in his pocket, ready to give him calm.  
They never seemed to catch on. Not when Michael stopped wearing short sleeves, and not when he always seemed to look pale and faint.  
Gavin asked if he was alright, and he lied. No more questions were asked.

***

Life continued on as normal, in fact. If anything Michael's grades were improving- a fact that pleased his mother greatly. He was even able to pass off not doing sports to keep up his grades.  
Geoff and Jack seemed reluctant to believe that, but eventually accepted it. After all, school was a lot of stress.

Things continued on a little too normally.  
One night he spent at Gavin's house, or Geoff's, depending on how you think of it. It was as if nothing was out wrong. They played their games, Gavin still made his same dumb jokes, and Michael still replied in kind.  
Gavin laughed as he beat Michael once again at a game Michael was always better at. He taunted him, claiming that he had lost his edge. With a snort he tackled Gavin, effectively knocking him off the couch.  
It wasn't until Gavin sat on top of him, pinning him down by the wrists, that he realized his second mistake. Gavin's grip on his wrists felt as if he was being stabbed, the pressure reopening day-old cuts.  
Michael complained that Gavin was gaining weight, but still he persisted, holding him down.  
Michael complained once more, this time of feeling lightheaded. This wasn't a lie, and Gavin, sensing that, relented and got off.

I think I'm getting sick, Michael lied.

That'd be why you're so weak, taunted back Gavin, who once more picked up the controller.

Michael lost every time, distracted.

***

The pressure grew as the amount of free skin shrank, the cuts quickly moving on to his right arm. He swore he wouldn't go any farther, resigning himself to just the inner forearms.  
Well, through trial and error.  
A few stay cuts were the result of Michael running out of space, but no where was quite as good. Several times he tried to cut open the vein on the back of his wrist, the dull pencil sharpener blades holding him back.  
He only used one of those two now, the other had become dull with blood from usage. Replacing them with something sharper wasn't an option- Michael thought back to the forgotten blade in the shower. If his mom remembered that she would be suspicious.  
If she found out it would be bad.  
But what he lacked in quality he made up for in quantity, attacking his arms over and over, littering them with cuts.

***

It wasn't until Michael was trying to cut open veins that he hesitated.  
Slicing repeatedly he would try, never rewarded by more than the regular beads of blood on the surface of the cut. It was then he realized how little he even wanted to live, how that was the only thing keeping him going. 

I want to die, he would whisper to himself, as if trying to come to terms with it.

I want to die, as if it was the only answer.

***

The cuts didn't bleed much anymore on Michael's left arm, the skin was too destroyed and scarred up to tear easily. Instead he turned his efforts to the right arm, angered by the amount of difficulty. 

***

He didn't want to die.  
He just didn't want to live.  
That's what Michael decided after a long while, that's what he decided and that's what he wanted to remember.  
Because who was he to complain? A white kid from Jersey who always had food on the table. Whose mom had a good enough paying job that he didn't have to work. He was getting an education, he was always told that he was smart, and he had friends.  
So many people had it so much worse, so why was he crying and slitting his wrists over it?  
That's what he wanted to remember as he carved a word into his right arm in the shower, his hand shaking. 

NEVER

The word SURRENDER was soon to follow, or would have been if he wasn't interrupted. Quickly he cleaned up his things and got out of the shower.  
Surrender was never added.

 

***

"How stupid was I? I mean- pretty fucking dumb, right?" Michael laughed lightheartedly.

"Well- yeah, when you put it like that. But you were just a kid." Gavin chuckled back, taking a swig of his beer.

Just a kid. So stupid to do that- those thoughts plague Michael in the night hours- how nothing ever really replaced that release and now he's just alone with nowhere to go and nothing to turn to. Just a kid but it was so good, the calm that overtook him was like no other- not like energy drink, alcohol, smoking, nothing he tried quite compared to that initial glow and nothing was healthy.  
But gosh, was he even healthy? It had been so damn long, he had been clean for such a long time yet he had nothing to replace it.

"Hey, Michael. You alright there?" Gavin asked, shaking his shoulder slightly.

"Yeah, 'm fine." Michael grunted, letting his shoulders fall a bit.

"You weren't stupid- you just didn't know how to handle things then. And now you do." Gavin insisted, wrapping his arm around him.

"No I don't- I'm just as dumb as I was then." Michael chuckled, breaking out into laughter.

Gavin pulled away in surprise for a moment before embracing him even tighter.

"I won't believe that." Gavin stated.

"What?"

"I won't believe that. You've grown so much since then- just look at where we are now. And yeah, things get bad sometimes. But it'll be all the better in the end." Gavin insisted, holding Michael in steady eye contact.

"Alright?" He asked.

"Alright." Michael agreed.

***

It's always the worst at nighttime. The awful haze of I can't sleep mixed with the deafening silence. Every sound feels like it's boring a hole in Michael's skull and every friends picture on social media reminds him just how alone he truly is.  
It's moments like this where the itch for a blade comes back, the overwhelming sensations calling for an anchor. But worse than that is confronting those feelings, those thoughts of wanting to just die to be in pain, how damn selfish those thoughts are.  
That brings the racing heart rate, the panicked breathing and he's too alone for anyone to care.  
Oh well.  
Michael lets the panic attack do it's worst, keeping quiet so he won't wake his mom. Oh well as he feels terrified that his throat will close.  
Oh well.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write AH things anymore, but I have many FAHC fics on Ao3 if that's your thing, or RWBY, rvb, an X-Ray and Vav, or the current obsession- Breath of the Wild.  
> Comments are love <3


End file.
